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Lilianna »»»◈««« I groaned, my head pounding even before I dared to open my eyes. Hangovers were the worst, but sometimes, you had to do things you'd never do for the sake of the job. Like last night, when I found myself indulging in celebratory drinks just because my casting director insisted on it. Rolling over in bed, I winced at the slightest movement, my stomach churning with every shift. The room spun slightly as I cracked open my eyelids, the harsh light searing through my skull. I reached for the covers, pulling them over my head in a feeble attempt to block out the world. My mouth felt like a desert, dry and parched, as I groaned softly, regretting every sip from the night before. But then, I realized something. I slowly pulled down the covers once more, and a sense of unease washed over me. The beige-colored ceiling looked vaguely familiar. I furrowed my brow, trying to recall where I was, but my mind drew a blank. I jolted up in a seated position as I recognized the roo
Marco »»»◈««« I never had to care about keeping someone close. My position, influence, and my bank account usually took care of that for me. The bartender approached with a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label and a rocks glass in hand. He set them down in front of me, and without hesitation, I poured myself a generous double shot. Downing it in one swift motion, I welcomed the burn of the alcohol as it washed away the bitter taste of her rejection, if only for a fleeting moment. Second chances? I've never bought into that nonsense. Trusting someone again, believing they'll change? That's nothing but wishful thinking, a waste of time and energy in ninety-nine percent of cases. Don't even get me started on the audacity of it all. It's like expecting a snake not to bite after it's sunk its fangs into you once. Lilianna is not a very trustworthy person. She'll do whatever she pleases as long as she thinks she's safe. The moment she realized I wasn't a threat to her or her b
Lilianna »»»◈««« We walked into a high-end restaurant, his hand firmly anchored to my back as he guided us inside. The maître d' greeted us with a nod, instantly recognizing Marco. We were swiftly escorted to a secluded table, the dim lighting casting an intimate glow over the polished silverware and crisp linens. Apparently, Mr. Costello here had reserved a table for us and planned the entire dinner. Typical. He probably planned dates with the same precision he used to run his counterfeit money empire. He pulled out a chair for me and guided me into it before seating himself opposite me. The server approached our table, and without missing a beat, he ordered their most expensive wine. "We'll call you when we're ready to order," he added, dismissing the server with a nod. I watched as the server hurried off, likely to retrieve a bottle that cost more than an average person's rent. Typical Costello—always making a statement. The wine arrived, and as the server poured it into o
Lilianna »»»◈««« We walked to the car and Marco glanced at me with a hint of a smile. "I never thought my wife would be a supermodel." I rolled my eyes. "I'm not a supermodel." "Yet," he added, his voice smooth and confident. He walked beside me with a relaxed stride, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. His movements were unhurried, exuding a quiet, effortless charm that made it impossible to ignore him. Marco opened the door for me, and I got in. Then, he walked around the car and sat in the driver's seat. He drove the car while I tried to maintain my distance, turning toward the window and watching the city blur by. Every now and then, I stole a glance at him, especially when I noticed we were taking an unusual route. The roads grew increasingly unfamiliar, and a knot of unease began to form in my stomach. "Are we even going home?" I finally asked, unable to keep the suspicion out of my voice. "Nope," he answered, his tone infuriatingly casual. "Then where are we g
Lilianna »»»◈««« I was alone in the elevator as it ascended, my mind still reeling from the night's events. Marco had dropped me off before heading to his warehouse to lock up Mrs. Williamson in a cell. When I entered the penthouse, it was eerily quiet. I wandered through the rooms, finally finding Killer resting peacefully on his bed. At least someone was having a normal night. I crouched down beside Killer and ran my hand over his fur. His food and water bowls were freshly refilled by the automatic feeders. "At least someone's got their life together," I murmured, smiling down at him. After a few moments, I stood up and made my way to my room, my thoughts still a jumbled mess. I closed the door behind me and leaned against it for a moment, replaying the night's events over and over in my mind. Each detail seemed more surreal than the last, and I couldn't quite believe everything that had happened. Did I just kidnap a woman at gunpoint? And not just any woman—the wife of the M
Lilianna »»»◈««« "I know..." I whispered, my lower lip trembling, a blur of tears clouding my vision. "I know I'm not what you want, and I never will be, but I need you to know that you mean the world to me." I finished, looking into his eyes, hoping for something—anything—maybe even a slight flash of returned feelings. He took a step back, and that tiny movement hurt more than he could imagine. "I can't... I can't even stand to look at you right now." His words sliced through me, sharper than any knife. I swallowed hard, fighting the sobs threatening to escape. "Why?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "What did I do?" He ran a hand through his hair, frustration etched on his face. "It's not what you did. It's what you represent. Every time I see you, I'm reminded of what I can't have, of the life I can't lead." "But we can find a way," I insisted, taking a step forward. "We can make this work. I know it's not easy, but—" "No," he cut me off, his tone final. "It's imposs
Lilianna »»»◈««« As soon as I settled into bed and shut my eyes, the sound of the doorknob turning startled me awake. I quickly switched on the nightstand lamp, and the soft light showed Marco standing in the doorway. He was wearing low-slung black pajama pants, and his toned chest was bare, showing off his tattoos. A white pillow was tucked casually under his arm as if he'd just grabbed it on a whim. His hair was tousled in a roguish look, as though he had just rolled out of bed but still managed to look effortlessly put together. The sight of him made my heart race, and I couldn't tear my eyes away from the contrast of his dark pants and the ink on his skin. Great, just what I needed—a live-action Calvin Klein ad in my bedroom. I had to calm down before I started drooling like a teenager at a boy band concert. “What are you doing in here?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. "Since you’ve made it clear you’re never moving back to that room, so, I’ve decided to move into th
Lilianna »»»◈««« "Dad!" I exclaimed, genuinely surprised to see him. Lately, Marco hadn't given us much of a chance to even talk; he was always the one picking me up and dropping me off wherever I needed to be. "Lilianna," Kason greeted me with a smile as he stepped into my trailer. His smile faltered slightly, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the blonde wig I wore for the shoot. "They're just going to take off the makeup and then we'll leave," I told him as my wig stylist, Patrick, worked on removing the wig. I closed my eyes and relaxed as Patrick gently unfastened the clips at the back of my head, careful not to tug on my scalp. He then applied adhesive remover along my hairline, waiting for it to take effect before carefully peeling the wig away. Once the wig was free, Patrick placed it on a nearby stand and cleaned any remaining adhesive from my scalp, finishing with a soothing moisturizer. I let my hair loose, running a hand through it as it fell down my back. "I'll se